The secret life of Janet bello

chapter four

I parked my car in Janet’s parking lot and sat in silence for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I took a deep breath to steady myself before stepping out of the car. The crisp morning air hit my face, but it did little to calm the storm inside me. I walked up to Detective Layla, who was already waiting near the entrance to Janet’s apartment building.

“Hi again, Layla,” I said, stretching out my hand for a handshake.

“Detective Laurent, thank you for coming,” she replied, shaking my hand firmly. Her tone was calm and professional, but there was an edge of concern in her voice.

We started walking toward Janet’s apartment, her words breaking the tense silence. “We just started searching the crime scene. I thought it would be best to call you in.” She lifted the yellow caution tape strung across the entrance, and we stepped inside.

The moment I entered, a wave of grief hit me so hard it felt like a physical blow. Janet’s couch and coffee table were in the same position as the last time I had been here. Nothing had changed except for the pool of blood in the middle of her living room. My chest tightened, and nausea washed over me. I stumbled back outside, my breath ragged as I doubled over and vomited into the bushes on her lawn.

Layla followed me out, her hand patting my shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry, Laurent. You don’t have to go in. You’ve seen enough.”

I wiped my mouth and straightened up, fighting back tears. My voice was hoarse. “I think I’ll stay outside. I don’t think I’ll be able to enter that house ever again.”

“I understand,” Layla said softly as we walked back toward my car.

Leaning against the back of the car, I took deep breaths to steady myself. Layla stood beside me, her expression cautious as she continued. “Her body is still undergoing autopsy.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“We suspect she knew her killer personally because there was no sign of forced entry. What do you think, Detective Laurent?”

I swallowed hard. “I know she knew who killed her. I know it. I should have been there. I had this gut feeling that something bad was going to happen. I tried to stop her, but she was so stubborn. I should have protected her.” My voice cracked with deep regret, my fists clenching by my sides.

“It’s not your fault, Laurent,” Layla said gently. “These things happen, and we don’t always have control. Can you tell me how that night went? Anything could help.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to remember every detail. “Janet’s driver picked her up from my house for the awards night. I didn’t want her to leave, but she insisted. After the event, she had a small celebration at her house with five of her friends.” I paused, forcing myself to recall their names. “Mary Idris, Ben Jackson, Sharon Adebayo, Morris Benjamin, and James Stanley. They were the people closest to her, and she trusted them. I have a feeling one of them did it.”

Layla jotted their names down in her notepad. “Okay. Did she tell you anything about her relationship with them?”

I nodded. “Mary was her fashion designer. Ben was her best friend’s boyfriend. Sharon was her best friend. Morris was her friend from college, and James… James was her personal assistant.”

“Okay,” Layla said, writing furiously. “We’ll need to call them in for questioning.”

A sudden thought hit me, and I turned to her sharply. “Who called the police?”

“Sharon Adebayo,” Layla replied carefully. “She’s been disoriented ever since. She was the one who found Janet.”

I frowned, my mind racing. Why was Sharon in Janet’s house that morning? “Does she know something?” I murmured under my breath, almost to myself.

“We have to find the truth, Layla,” I said, the urgency in my voice evident. “I won’t rest until the killer is found. We need to bring all of them in for questioning immediately.”

“One thing, Laurent…” Layla began, hesitating. “The chief assigned the case to me. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to let you handle it yourself.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?” I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.

“It’s protocol,” she continued carefully, avoiding my gaze. “You can’t work on a case when the victim is someone close to you. Your emotions are all over the place, Laurent.”

I clenched my fists and turned away, pacing in frustration. “But I can handle it!” I yelled, my voice trembling with anger. I furiously kicked my car tire over and over, the physical release doing nothing to ease my rage.

“Laurent,” Layla said firmly, stepping in front of me. “You need to understand. You’re too close to this. But listen—I’ll keep you updated. I promise. The chief said you can observe, but you can’t get involved directly.”

I stopped pacing and stood still, my jaw tight. “I can do this,” I muttered, almost to myself.

“I know you can,” she said, her voice softening. “But just sit back for this one, okay?”

I exhaled sharply, defeated. “Fine,” I said finally. “I understand.”

“I’ll keep you in the loop, I promise,” Layla reassured me. “We’re starting with Mary Idris today.”

“Mary?” I repeated, nodding.

“You can stay in the dark room and watch the interrogation,” Layla said, her voice gentle.

I met her eyes, appreciating her understanding. “Thank you, Layla.”

“Anytime, Laurent,” she replied, patting my shoulder before heading back into the house.

But as I watched her disappear, I knew I couldn’t just sit back. I couldn’t. I had to do something. I wouldn’t rest until I had answers.

I got back into my car and drove home, my mind spinning. The moment I stepped into my apartment, I grabbed my laptop, searching for any information I could find. I printed pictures of all five suspects I had found online. Mary, Ben, Sharon, Morris, and James and pinned them to my living room wall. I scribbled down everything I knew about them, connecting threads and noting relationships.

I stared at the photos, my eyes sharp and unwavering. The killer can hide, but not for long.

I spent the entire night going through their social media profiles, reading posts, comments—anything that could give me a clue. I couldn’t sleep, my mind restless and haunted by Janet’s face.

As soon as the first rays of the sun broke through my window, I got ready, grabbed my coat, and left the house. Today was the day Layla would interrogate Mary, and I had to be there.

Arriving at the station, I walked briskly toward the interrogation rooms. Layla was waiting for me in the hallway.

“Hi, Laurent,” she said, offering a small, tired smile. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” I replied with determination.

She nodded and ushered me to the dark room, where I could observe the interrogation unseen. “Mary will be here any moment,” she said, turning to leave and get ready.

As I settled into the shadows of the observation room, my eyes remained fixed on the empty chair in the interrogation room beyond the glass. I don’t trust anyone right now. Mary Idris would be the first to face questions—but not the last.